


Lilies, and the Sun

by Eavenne



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gardens & Gardening, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Moving On, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 17:23:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17812235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eavenne/pseuds/Eavenne
Summary: Basch's sister had died recently – yet her presence seemed to fill his house, haunting him, clinging to his skin. He heard her footsteps on the stairs, heard the sound of her laughter ring in his ears.Her absence was deafening, and he had to drown it out.That was why, a few weeks later, he let Gilbert move in.





	Lilies, and the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Human AU.
> 
> Basch = Switzerland  
> Gilbert = Prussia  
> Lilli = Liechtenstein
> 
> Enjoy!

On her birthday, he walked to the blooming lilies by the fountain.

The flowers dripped from their stems and leaned to the side, seeking to rest their heavy heads but finding only the drenched air. Thin white petals, carefully balancing fat beads of rain, faintly glistened under the muted sun.

A familiar laugh rang in Basch’s ears.

He whipped around. But even as he stepped forward, her image was fading; the sound of her voice was slipping beneath the roar of traffic; the warmth was receding from her hands, silently, melting back into the fog of his memories.

Something stung in his eyes. Basch blinked, hard.

His vision only blurred further when he didn’t see her there anymore.

\---

He hadn’t opened her bedroom door since the day she’d died.

For the first few days Basch had hammered on it. He’d screamed at it, screamed at her till he’d torn his throat to shreds and it hurt to even whisper. His little sister had always been the sole person exempt from his anger – but now there was something wound tightly in his chest, straining against its bonds, trembling on the verge of exploding, and if he breathed he’d suffocate and if he stopped moving he’d collapse.

It was easier to shout at her than at himself.

Now Basch didn’t look at her bedroom door. He felt her staring at him each time he passed it, her eyes following his footsteps and lingering on his fading back. Some days, when the edge of the pain sliced at him once more and he was choking on the urge to cry, he’d lean against the door and squeeze his eyes shut. The wood was cool against his face, cold under his hands.

It reminded him of his sister’s coffin.

\---

Her absence was deafening.

That was why, weeks after her death, Basch let Gilbert move in. They barely knew one another, but Gilbert had a reputation for being loud and difficult – Basch desperately hoped that this man’s voice would drown out the sound of her footsteps, that this man’s attitude would prove so tiring that it’d dispel all the nightmares. He’d met Gilbert in college, and had been the last person contacted when Gilbert had needed a place to stay; no one, not even Gilbert himself, had expected Basch to accept the request.

“You look like shit,” said Gilbert when they met for the first time in three years. He narrowed his eyes at Basch, cocked his head slightly – then he shrugged. “But I’m not gonna pry. Won’t even bother you, unless this crappy couch you’re telling me to sleep on collapses under me in the middle of the night. But I guess I’m getting my money’s worth. Thanks for the low rent, by the way.”

Basch couldn’t summon the energy to explain that the only other bed in the house belonged to his sister.

He decided that it was good that Gilbert didn't care.

\---

Gilbert was everything that Basch had expected, and more.

He was loud and self-centred. He liked telling stories about himself and did so with gusto, posing dramatically and laughing even if Basch didn’t react. On the weekend he tried to drag Basch out to a bar with him, failed, and showed up in the middle of the night drunk and smelling of beer.

It was almost as if he were some sort of caricature, rather than a living, breathing man.

But Basch didn’t mind.

The louder Gilbert laughed, the easier it was to tune her absence out.

\---

  
Six days into Gilbert’s stay, everything went wrong.

For the first time since her death, Basch didn’t see his sister’s pink felt hoodie hanging from the coats hanger. His legs froze. Numbly he stumbled backwards and turned and tore through the house, unable to breathe, his hands trembling, his heart pounding. Then all at once the still air exploded with noise and Basch’s head spun – he recognised that sound.

It was the vacuum cleaner, and the door to his sister’s bedroom was hanging open.

“Get out,” he said. His eyes burned. His breath wouldn’t stay in his lungs.

The roar of the vacuum cleaner drowned out his voice.

Basch’s entire body was shaking. “Get out,” he said again, “Get out right now.” He swayed, lost his balance, and collapsed against the back of an armchair. It jerked backward, hitting something that fell to the floor and shattered with a loud crash.

Somewhere in the distance, the vacuum cleaner faltered and grew silent. A tall, lanky figure emerged from the bedroom door – it paused for a moment, before hastening forward and rushing to Basch’s side.

The figure stopped before him; Gilbert’s eyes widened. “Dude – ”

“Did I say that you could go in there?” Basch’s hands curled into fists. “Did I say that you could go in there?” His heart was racing in his chest, beating impossibly fast. “ _Did I?”_ he shouted.

Hot blood was pounding through his veins. Basch looked at Gilbert and waited, waited for the impending argument, the incoming retort. He needed an argument, he needed a fight, every muscle in his body was screaming for it –

But Gilbert only gazed at him silently, as though he were truly seeing Basch for the first time.

The fabric of the armchair creased as Basch dug his nails into it. It was all that he could do to keep standing – he gasped, scrabbled to keep his balance, wondered if this was how it felt to be drowning. He let his head fall. The room whirled around him, and he tasted bile at the back of his throat. He leaned heavily on the armchair.

Dimly, Basch watched as Gilbert’s feet moved into the edge of his vision. No one said anything but Basch could feel the other man’s eyes on him, boring into his skull, chiselling at his brain. He felt cold, and distantly sick. He wondered if Gilbert pitied him.

The thought made him turn to avoid Gilbert’s stare – and that was when Basch saw them.

He saw the broken pieces of his sister’s handmade clay lily, lying silently on the ground, thanks to his carelessness.

Something shattered deep inside him. His legs gave way, and he collapsed to the floor. Gilbert was still looking straight at him – but all Basch could do was to bury his aching face in his hands and try not to make a sound. He felt small. He wanted to be even smaller, to disappear into the ground, to see his sister again.

The hand that settled on his upper back felt so far away.

\---

He spent the next two days avoiding his housemate.

Ever since his sister’s death, Basch had spent most of his time at work, so it wasn’t unusual for him to return when Gilbert was asleep and leave before Gilbert was awake. The only difference was that now Basch was intentionally trying to do so. It likely wasn’t a big difference.

The shards of pottery laid on the floor for a day, gleaming under the ceiling lights. Unable to sleep, Basch had gotten out of bed and staggered to the living room, intending to fix the clay lily – but something seized painfully in his chest and he couldn’t bear to look at it. The torchlight that he’d been holding, so as not to disturb the sleeping Gilbert, fell to the ground. He picked it up.

He left the bottle of superglue on the table.

The next day he returned to see his sister’s pink felt hoodie hanging from the coat hanger once more. It looked cleaner, free of the dust that had settled on it since the last time she’d worn it – since the last time she’d come home.

Basch gazed at it for a long moment, swallowed the lump that rose in his throat, and hung his coat beside it.

Then he walked into the living room, and blinked at the clay lily sitting on the table.

A warm, throbbing sensation swelled in his chest. He moved forward, slowly, hesitantly, as if he were underwater. He reached out to take the lily, but his fingers trembled and he didn’t dare to hold it. It was too delicate, too precious. It meant too much to him and he couldn’t bear to even touch it.

His sister had made it for him, years ago.

Now Gilbert had repaired it for him, sometime that day.

Basch raised his head, and took in Gilbert’s sleeping figure. The other man’s long body was draped in a black blanket; the couch was too short for him, so his feet were resting on air, unsupported. Basch looked behind Gilbert, at the light streaming in from the hallway.

He suddenly realised that Gilbert had left the light on so that Basch wouldn’t have to grope around in the darkness.

An odd feeling settled in his stomach.

It seemed that there was another side to Gilbert, after all.

Basch stood there for a few silent minutes, the sound of his own steady heartbeat filling his ears. He looked at Gilbert, then at the lily – coming to a decision at long last, he headed to the table in his bedroom, took out a marker and a notepad, and scrawled two words on the paper.

He left the note beside the clay lily.

“Thank you.”

\---

They traded sticky notes for the rest of the week.

_”I dunno what you’re thanking me for, is it because I awesomely cleaned most of your house (MOST of it not all don’t worry) and actually populated your miserable fridge with food?_

_– Gilbert_

_PS: still dunno what you mean, but you’re welcome.”_

Basch wondered why Gilbert was unwilling to let the thoughtful, kinder side of him see daylight.

-

_”Thanks for cleaning up. But you’re the only one eating in most of the time, so you’re the only one benefiting from a not-empty fridge.”_

-

_”Yeah, well, the fact that I’m using your fridge means that the $$ you spent buying the thing isn’t going to waste. I’m helping you make good use of your money!_

_– Gilbert_

_PS: it’s an awesome fridge and I approve of it”_

Despite himself, despite everything, Basch felt a smile tug at his lips.

-

_”I’ve had it for four years, and I expect to have it for twenty more. It’s more than made up for its cost. Yes, it was a really good buy. I’m good with these things._

_PS: Thanks. Keep using it.”_

 

\---

They went shopping together that weekend.

Unlike what Basch had expected, Gilbert proved to be a picky customer. He compared all the mattresses he saw, tested their springs, and noted down their prices. Basch watched him silently, observing the intent look in those sharp eyes – this careful buying process was familiar to Basch, for it was one that he followed himself.

It seemed that Gilbert was more like Basch then he’d thought.

They returned with a new mattress in tow – though he was relatively frugal, Gilbert hadn’t wanted to get one second-hand – and set it up in the living room, moving the crumbling couch to one side.

“You really should give that away, you know,” said Gilbert, jabbing a shoulder in the direction of the couch. Then without any warning he flopped onto the mattress back first; it creaked under his weight. “This is way better! Thanks for paying 30 percent, I appreciate it.”

Something heavy settled in the pit of Basch’s stomach. His limbs felt like lead – he walked to the couch and sat down, heavily. “I...” He took a breath. “You’re right. I should get rid of it. It’s just taking up space.”

But even as he ran his fingers over the old, crinkled black leather cover, he found himself unable to let go. Images rose from his memory and floated before his eyes – how many times had he sat there, his little sister by his side, watching old movies on the television? He’d always criticised her choices for being too cheesy or melodramatic. He’d always had to be dragged to the couch, complaining loudly all the while.

Now Basch would do anything to watch silly movies with her again.

Suddenly the couch groaned, and Basch whipped around to see Gilbert settling down beside him. The wild expression on his face had melted into something softer, something calmer. He tilted his head slightly. “How long have you had this couch?” he asked – his rough voice was almost soothing now, as if it’d been stretched out till it was finally even.

Basch tried to meet Gilbert’s eyes. “Longer than – ” He paused. His breath hitched in his throat. “Longer than I’ve had the fridge.” His face was uncomfortably warm; he dropped his gaze, turning his head back to the empty space beside him.

“You seem pretty attached to it.” Yet there was no mocking edge to Gilbert’s voice. “If you don’t have the stomach to get rid of it yourself, I can do it for you when you’re out. I work from home, so it’s not out of the way.”

Basch breathed in and out, slowly, deeply. “Yeah,” he heard himself say. “I’d like that.” It had to be done – it didn’t make sense to keep something that was already falling apart, even if it contained hundreds of memories, so many that it was bursting at its seams. He raised his head, and gazed at the pink felt hoodie hanging on the coat hanger. That had to be put away, too.

It couldn’t keep waiting for her to go out again.

But Basch couldn’t find the strength to go near the hoodie – and so he turned to Gilbert, struggling to rearrange his face into something resembling a calm expression.

“Thank you,” he said.

Gilbert grinned.

“Don’t worry about it.”

\---

Basch started coming home for dinner.

The first time, it’d happened because Gilbert had sent him a text out of the blue.

_“I’m cooking dinner and if you don’t come back to eat my awesome cooking I’ll be very offended”_

As he’d claimed, Gilbert proved to be a rather good cook. Basch returned the next day, and the day after, and eventually it became routine – sometimes he cooked instead, and now that he wasn’t only cooking for himself, he began to put effort into it for the first time since his sister’s death.

They washed the dishes together, and talked about their days. Gilbert was a freelance writer who held strong opinions on many things – he spoke rapidly, furiously wiping the plates that Basch handed him. His life was exciting, filled with interesting encounters and unusual people – Basch’s office job was extremely dull in comparison.

“You have practically no work-life balance,” said Gilbert, once. “I respect your work ethic, but it seems like that’s all you do.” He let out a bark of a laugh. “Heck, your garden’s practically dead!”

Basch’s hands stilled.

He hadn’t touched the lilies since his sister’s death.

Something ached in his chest – he swallowed the feeling down, suffocated it beneath his will. “I’ll fix it this weekend,” he said, “though I probably won’t be able to save most of it. In that case, I’ll buy some bulbs, and…”

Basch glanced at Gilbert, suddenly feeling a little awkward.

“…You can join me, if you want.” He blinked, looked blankly at his hands, and quickly switched on the tap. The hiss of water drowned out the silence between them. He frowned. “Not that you have to, or anything. But if you’re interested…I don’t mind, I guess.”

Gilbert didn’t respond for a moment.

Then Basch heard a short laugh, and the sound of Gilbert shifting beside him. “Gardening sounds awesome,” he said. “Yeah, I’ll join you!”

Basch tilted his head to hide the smile on his face.

“Thank you,” he said.

“It’s _my_ garden, too,” replied Gilbert.

\---

They planted the bulbs.

The red leaves of autumn were fluttering down from the trees, and Basch decided it wasn’t a bad time to plant lilies. They always planted them in that season – this year would be like any other, except that his sister was no longer turning the earth by his side.

Her summer lilies had already withered away.

Wanting some variety, Gilbert had bought some daffodil bulbs, and so they set to work. Sometimes Basch paused, and looked at the other man – Gilbert was engrossed in his job, his eyes narrowed in concentration. It was strange for Basch to remember how he’d initially written Gilbert off as a loud, obnoxious slob.

There were so many different sides to Gilbert, so many hidden depths that Basch had only glimpsed. He was kind, but he didn’t want his kindness to be acknowledged; he was hardworking, but he worked silently, not expecting any praise.

A warm feeling rolled through Basch’s body.

He tried not to notice the way Gilbert’s jeans hugged his legs and rear, and turned back to the earth before him. He wouldn’t stare. Surely Gilbert wouldn’t appreciate it.

But that night, Basch’s dreams were filled with the sound of Gilbert’s laughter.

\---

Basch’s boss remembered that Basch had been working on his birthday, and talked him into taking leave to make up for it.

It was only when he woke up to the faint strains of a flute that he remembered that he hadn’t told Gilbert.

The music crept through the crack under his bedroom door and floated in, rising from the floor and spiralling to the ceiling. It was a slow, gentle melody; it filled the empty space with sound, breathing and sighing and drifting peacefully through the cool morning air.

Basch closed his eyes, and listened.

He wondered how long he lay there, half-dreaming, half-awake. Gilbert moved on to another piece, this one fast and thrilling and acrobatic – he paused sometimes, played something again, played something differently, started from the beginning. It didn't surprise Basch to learn that Gilbert was as hardworking as ever, as he was in all things.

And he didn’t want to move; he didn’t want the spell to end.

He turned his head, and stared at his bedroom door. Basch longed to reach out, to go outside and watch Gilbert play the flute – he wondered what Gilbert looked like when he played, and he had to know, he had to find out. He took a breath – his heart was racing in his chest.

For the first time in months, his fluttering heartbeat wasn’t accompanied by pain.

Basch tried to be as quiet as possible, but the walls were thin and the music broke off the moment he started washing his face. His hands stilled; he looked up at his soaked face, his heart sinking, and continued with his morning routine.

When he walked out and saw Gilbert typing on a laptop with the flute nowhere in sight, Basch sighed. “Why did you stop?” he asked.

Gilbert’s grin was oddly tight. “I…don’t know what you’re talking about!” he said, waving a hand in the air.

Basch frowned at him.

A few seconds later, Gilbert visibly caved – his shoulders slumped, and he leaned into the armchair he was sitting on. “Okay, fine,” he muttered, looking down to stare at his laptop. “I didn’t know you were still here. If I did, I wouldn’t have started practicing.”

The couch had vanished the day after they’d bought Gilbert’s mattress – so Basch sat down on that instead, crossing his legs beneath him. “I don’t mind,” he said, “and I don’t think the neighbours mind, either, as long as you don’t practice past ten.”

“ _I_ mind!” Gilbert looked Basch straight in the eye, his cheeks slightly pink. He coughed, and dropped his gaze once more. “It’s not perfect yet. I’m still working on it.”

“That’s fine. Everything takes work.”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t ready for anyone to hear it. That’s why I’m practicing.” Gilbert huffed, and shifted in the armchair. “It’s for an audition. I wanna join the local symphony orchestra.” He sighed. “I…haven’t told anyone. It’s kinda embarrassing. I mean, I don’t seem like the musician type, right? And I mean I don’t really care about what other people think, but I’d rather just do it and get bragging rights after.”

He was wearing an expression that Basch had never seen before – not knowing what to make of it and feeling a strong surge of empathy, Basch continued watching Gilbert. “Who cares about whatever musicians are supposed to be like?” he said, and Gilbert’s head flicked towards his voice, his eyes wide. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re already a musician. Your playing was – ” Suddenly Basch felt his cheeks grow hot. His throat was oddly dry – he quickly swallowed. “Um. It was beautiful.” He ducked his head to hide the blush that was definitely warming his face.

When Gilbert’s laughter rang out and filled the room, a strange relief flooded through Basch’s body. Despite his embarrassment, his muscles felt relaxed and his shoulders were loose. He looked up at the pink felt hoodie once more – a dull, cold ache pulsed in his chest, but Gilbert’s presence was warm like the sun and the pain rippled slowly away.

Distantly, Basch wondered if his sister would have liked Gilbert.

He smiled.

Of course she would.

“You think my playing’s beautiful?” said Gilbert, leaning forward. His eyes were bright, wild, and alive. “Of course it is! There wasn’t ever any doubt.” Yet the way his smile was reaching his eyes, creasing the skin at its corners, spoke to the contrary. Gilbert was thanking him. “Don’t think that, just because you complimented me, you get to hear my awesome playing for free, though!” He threw himself back against the armchair in one swift movement. “You gotta give me a stronger reason for that.”

Basch looked straight at Gilbert. “I’m making up for my missed birthday celebration today.” As he spoke, the words grew heavier on his tongue – he hadn’t done anything on his actual birth date since for the first time his little sister wasn’t there to wish him all the best, to surprise him with a home-baked cake.

He blinked away the heat in his eyes.

But before he knew it, Gilbert had moved and a silver flute flashed as it caught the sunlight streaming in from the window.

He raised the instrument to his lips.

“Say no more,” said Gilbert, and he began to play.

And when the magic ended, when the flute’s voice faded into the air and it disappeared back into its case, Basch gazed at the man sitting before him. He looked at Gilbert, really looked at him, took in the silver-blond hair and the sharp facial features and the broad shoulders and the fingers calloused from days of hard work.

“Thank you,” he said.

Gilbert grinned. “Happy belated birthday, Basch.”

\---

A few weeks later, Basch woke up before Gilbert – something that never happened on weekends.

He walked to the living room, noticed that Gilbert’s face was rather pale, and accidentally woke him up while trying to check for a fever – once he was awake, Gilbert insisted on finishing an article he’d been working on the day before.

Basch hauled him to the bedroom and told him to get some rest.

“Dude!” said Gilbert, shakily propping himself against the pillow. He’d been weakly protesting for the past few minutes. “You gotta let me work! I’m almost done, and this article is gonna be so good!”

Basch sighed, leaning against the doorframe. “It’ll be even better if you work on it when you’re feeling alright.”

Gilbert groaned.

Then a sly grin slipped onto his face. “And, well – ” He raised an arm, and gestured towards the bed he was lying on. “I didn’t know you wanted me in your bed so _badly_ , Basch – ”

The door slammed shut and Basch stormed down the hallway, his face burning.

When he returned minutes later, carrying a glass of cold water and glaring at the man occupying his bed, Gilbert’s expression had shifted. His eyes were distant – Basch paused in the doorway, following his gaze and wondering what he was looking at, but seeing only a random point on the ceiling.

He coughed. Gilbert turned. He looked at the water, then at Basch’s face.

They stared at each other, an odd silence settling between them. Feeling strangely out of place in his own bedroom, Basch walked to Gilbert’s bedside and held out the glass. “Here,” he said. “Drink.”

A soft chuckle burst from Gilbert’s pale lips. He accepted the glass and downed the water in a few seconds, drinking at a ridiculous speed – then he wiped his mouth with his hand and said, “Thanks.”

Something about the gesture made Basch feel oddly breathless. Struggling against the desire to stare at Gilbert’s lips, he nodded stiffly.

“I’ll be back,” he said, and tried not to wince at the strangely high pitch of his voice.

He spent the rest of the day shuttling between the kitchen and the bedroom. Basch wrapped three ice packs with hand towels, laid another towel on the pillow, and carefully arranged the ice packs around Gilbert’s head. “It’s like I’m some kind of deity and this is my awesome halo,” said Gilbert, sighing in delight – Basch snorted, found his eyes meeting Gilbert’s own, and quickly tore himself away.

As the sun sank in the sky outside, Basch headed out to the supermarket, bought a chicken, and headed back. He stepped through the door, the plastic bag crinkling as he moved, and stopped short.

His sister’s pink felt hoodie had slipped to the floor.

Basch stared at it for a while, remembering how she’d looked the last time he’d seen her wear it – he placed the plastic bag on the kitchen counter, took a breath, and headed back to the hoodie.

He knelt, and gathered it in his arms. He imagined that his sister was there, safe and sound in his arms where he could protect her forever and no one would hurt her. A sob rose in his throat and he bent his head, squeezed his eyes shut, and waited for the ache to pass.

It hurt to let go, but there was nothing else that Basch could do.

Slowly, reluctantly, he let his arms slacken. He blinked away the tears that hadn’t quite formed, and took a deep breath.

Then, finally, he shook out the hoodie and began to fold it.

\---

Though Gilbert had complained about getting out of bed, one taste of Basch’s chicken soup seemed to instantly change his mind.

He ate with relish. “This shit is really good,” he said between mouthfuls – then he paused, met Basch’s eyes with an apologetic grin, and said, “Ignore the part where I called your soup shit.”

Not really understanding how a sick person had such a good appetite, Basch shrugged. “I’m used to your vocabulary,” he said, prompting an indignant squawk in reply.

When they’d finished eating, Basch waved away Gilbert’s attempt to help with the washing – yet instead of going to bed like he was supposed to, the other man lingered at the kitchen table. For a few minutes, a comfortable silence fell upon them like a soft quilt.

Then Gilbert lifted the spell. “Basch?” he said. There was an odd note of hesitation in his voice.

“Yes?”

“Do you mind if I, uh…” He paused, and Basch turned to look at him. There was a wary look in Gilbert’s eyes, a tension in his body. “Do you mind if I ask you something personal?”

Basch stared at him, understood, and opened his mouth – but no words came out. He blinked, turned back to the sink, and tried again. “Ask. I won’t get upset.”

At the very least, he wouldn’t show it.

He felt Gilbert hesitate behind him. “Who was she?” he asked slowly. “I mean…the person who used to stay in your second bedroom.”

Basch let his eyes fall closed. He felt tired – he leaned against the sink, resting his full weight on it. “My younger sister,” he said quietly. “She’s always had the second bedroom – I had the couch for most of my life. I don’t mind, though. I insisted that she take the bedroom. When our parents finalised their divorce and moved out, she refused to upgrade, and made me take the master bedroom.”

Gilbert made a sound halfway between a chuckle and a sigh. “So that’s why you gave me the couch,” he said.

Basch opened his eyes, and nodded. Though Gilbert didn’t ask further, the inevitable question hung heavily in the air, pressing at Basch’s shoulders, whispering in his ears. He had to answer it. His hands, wet and covered in soapsuds, trembled – but he had to answer the question. Gilbert deserved to know why Basch had shouted at him all those weeks ago.

He took a shaky breath.

“Six days before her nineteenth birthday, she died in her bedroom.” The memory flashed before his eyes, dug its claws into his brain – she was lying facedown on her bed, motionless – “She had an aortic aneurysm, and it ruptured.” The doctor’s carefully arranged face hovered before Basch’s mind, her lips moving mutely, unintelligibly. “It was incredibly rare. It barely ever happens to people under sixty.” His eyes burned, and his heart pounded in his chest. “But it happened to her, and – and – ”

He stared at the sink, his shoulders heaving – he focused on the artificial lemon-lime scent of the dishwashing liquid and refused to let himself cry. When he heard Gilbert’s chair scrape against the floor and felt a cold hand settle itself on his shoulder, he bent his head, turned his face away from the other man, and blinked rapidly.

“What – what about you?” he asked, hating the way his voice was wobbling. “Wh – why did you come here? What happened?” When Gilbert didn’t immediately reply, Basch turned sharply toward him. The hand on his shoulder disappeared, and Basch fought the urge to ask Gilbert to put it back. “Tell me,” he said, desperately scrambling for something to latch his mind onto, something that could distract him from the memory of his sister’s dead body. “ _Please_.”

Gilbert held his gaze for a long moment – then he sighed, and angled his face to stare at the doorway. “Nothing happened,” he said heavily. “My kid brother got engaged, and…ya know. They wanted to live together. So I moved out.”

Something in the tone of Gilbert’s voice made Basch’s insides clench. He took a step forward, not knowing what he was doing – then his hand had closed over Gilbert’s, and they were looking into each other’s eyes, and their faces were centimetres apart.

“They kicked you out?”

“No, I kicked myself out.”

“Why?”

A lopsided smile twisted Gilbert’s lips. “I thought…” He sighed, and Basch felt it as a puff of hot air against his left cheekbone. “I thought they’d – ” His eyes were too bright. “I thought they’d rather be by themselves. Ya know.” Gilbert’s breaths were quick and shallow. “Without me butting in.”

“So you’re here, now.”

“So I’m here, now.”

Silence filled the little space between them. Basch looked down, gazed at their clasped hands, and blinked back tears.

“Does your brother love you?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Gilbert, softly.

“Then he needs you,” said Basch. “Don’t do this to him. Because I know what it’s like to lose a sibling, and – ” He took a shaky breath. “Don’t leave your brother’s life. You never know when – when everything can go wrong. It’ll be too late then.”

Gilbert’s fingers tightened around Basch’s.

“He’s been worrying about me,” he said.

Basch looked up. “Then go home.”

But Gilbert shook his head. “I’ll drop by tomorrow, but…”

Their eyes met.

Gilbert’s expression softened. “I’d like to stay here, if that’s okay.”

“That’s okay,” said Basch, looking up at Gilbert, finding himself oddly breathless. “You can stay here.”

They watched each other for a while, gazing into each other’s eyes. They stood there, together, alone in space –

Then Gilbert looked away and coughed, and the moment was over.

Their hands fell unclasped. “Crap, you’re probably sick now, too,” said Gilbert, stepping away from Basch. “Don’t be surprised if you’re the one with the awesome ice-pack halo tomorrow.”

But before Basch could reply, Gilbert bared his teeth in a wide grin. “But it’ll be fine,” he declared, “Because you’ll have the awesome Gilbert taking care of you!”

Warmth flooded through Basch’s body. He felt a tightness in his cheeks, and realised that he was smiling.

“Okay,” he said quietly.

Gilbert cocked his head. “And, Basch?”

“Yes?”  
“Thank you.”

Basch’s heart fluttered in his chest.

“Thank you, too,” he said.

\---

For the first time in years, Basch decided to head home from work when he felt his head begin to spin.

Gilbert let him curl up under the blanket and shiver – but then he went out and came back and built an ice fort around Basch’s head. “My goal is to take care of you more awesomely than you took care of me!” he exclaimed, and despite the heaviness in Basch’s body, he couldn’t help but smile.

Just when had he started finding Gilbert so endearing?

He slept, woke up to sip appreciatively at Gilbert’s chicken soup, and went back to bed. That night he tossed from nightmare to nightmare, shouted his sister’s name, screamed at Gilbert to open his eyes and please don’t leave him – then he blinked into the darkness and heard Gilbert whispering that he was there, and his breathing slowed as he remembered that Gilbert was alive and everything was alright.

When he next opened his eyes to the morning sunlight streaming through the white curtains, Basch rolled over to see Gilbert facing him, fast asleep next to him. Dreaming, Gilbert’s face was relaxed, calm – as though a thousand worries had slipped from his mind and he could be happy once again.

His lips were slightly parted.

Slowly, Basch raised his hand; it hovered over Gilbert’s cheek. His breath hitched. His body had jolted awake, as though he’d had a mildly pleasant electric shock. He was here, present, alive, and Gilbert was right there, and their bodies were almost touching, and he could feel the sun-kissed warmth radiating from Gilbert’s skin, and if his fingers crossed that small distance he could cup Gilbert’s cheek in his palm and touch the corner of Gilbert’s lips with his thumb –

Gilbert shifted in his sleep, and Basch’s hand shot back beneath the covers.

When they sat down for breakfast later that morning, Basch fought against the heat flooding through his face in vain.

He took a deep breath, tried to cool himself down, and failed.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, staring into the depths of his tea, dimly wondering if he could drown himself in it.

Gilbert leaned towards him, and Basch jerked back in surprise.

The other man grinned.

“Anytime!”

\---

As the frost melted into the earth and the first sweet-scented notes of spring rose into the air, Gilbert told Basch about the charity representatives who had knocked on their door.

“There’s a charity drive going on,” he said, making a vague gesture at nothing in particular. “They’re collecting clothes, books, toys, beds, all that jazz.”

Their eyes met.

“Anything you’d like to give away?” asked Gilbert. He was watching Basch intently, alertly, almost as though there was a reply that he expected and that he was simply waiting for.

Her bedroom door flashed before Basch’s eyes.

He stared at the floor, avoiding Gilbert’s gaze, trying to steady his breathing. From the depths of his memories, the sound of her laughter rang in his ears once more – he saw the blue ribbon in her hair fluttering in the warm summer breeze, remembered the sound of her footsteps down the hall, heard the click of her bedroom door, felt her small hand curl into his.

“Basch.”

He looked up. Suddenly he wasn’t seeing his sister anymore; he stared at Gilbert, recalled the concentration in Gilbert’s eyes when he was scrutinising his music score, thought about how hard Gilbert worked, how hard Gilbert laughed. There he was, striving for something greater, stretching his arms and reaching for something bright, something almost in his grasp – he raced forward, leaving his loved ones behind, leaving Basch in his wake.

Basch took a breath.

How long had he been mourning?

Somehow, he knew that he’d never stop. Nothing in the world could prevent him from missing his little sister. No one in the world could fill the hole in his heart that she’d once occupied – that she still slept in, deep within the earth. Even if he stepped into her bedroom, even if he put everything within it away, he wouldn’t be able to give it to Gilbert. It was hers. It wasn’t right.

Perhaps he wasn’t making any logical sense, but Basch couldn’t make any other choice.

And yet he had to open that door.

It was what she’d have wanted.

“Yes,” said Basch quietly. “I have some things to give away.” He raised his head, and took in the concerned expression on Gilbert’s face. “My sister is the kindest, most compassionate person I know. She’d have wanted her things to be given to people in need.” His throat was dry; he swallowed, hesitated, and continued. “Sometimes I wonder how someone like her came from my family.” Their family, ever fractured and trembling on the verge of shattering, that had left him bitter and aloof, that had seemingly left no traces on his gem of a sister.

Gilbert tilted his head, and a smile softened his face.

“She got it from you,” he said.

Something stung in Basch’s eyes. Suddenly it was hard to breathe.

“Thank you,” he said.

Gilbert reached out, and patted him on the shoulder.

\---

For the first time since her death, he opened her bedroom door.

Everything was as he remembered it. Her table sat in the far corner, stacked high with textbooks that she’d no longer read; her closet hung open, filled with clothes that she wouldn’t wear anymore; her bed was dressed in the sheets it’d had when he’d found her lying dead on it.

Basch tried to ignore the ache in his chest.

“You cleaned?” he asked instead, turning away from the room to look at Gilbert. The silence was like a physical presence, swelling in the still air, straining, ready to burst – he had to fill it with words, to make it disappear before the tense calm he was forcing on himself could snap.

Gilbert’s eyes darted around the room, as though he didn’t really know what to say in reply – then he sighed, and nodded. “I know you told me not to,” he said, “but I didn’t want to let your sister’s bedroom gather dust like that.”

But even as Basch gazed at Gilbert, his hands had begun to tremble, his heart had begun to race – he’d thought that Gilbert’s presence would soothe him, would somehow magically make everything endurable. He’d been wrong.

He tried to keep the struggle from showing on his face.

“Let’s start with the books,” said Basch, walking toward his sister’s desk, hoping that the physical activity would serve as a good distraction.

So they sorted through his sister’s worldly possessions. There really was nothing that Basch should want to keep, nothing that he could re-use in any way, but every textbook that he handed to Gilbert and every dress that he unhooked from its hanger held a memory of his sister, smelt like his sister, had a piece of his sister within it that Basch held in his hands and couldn’t bring himself to throw away.

He forced himself to keep moving. If he didn’t stop to think, it’d be easier; if he didn’t stop to feel, it’s be over sooner. When he found her favourite dress, a striped pink cotton dress that he’d bought for her, he stared at it for such a long time that Gilbert tapped him on the shoulder. Then there was nothing left to do but tear it from his eyes and thrust it at Gilbert, shaking, struggling to swallow sobs.

It quickly became impossible to continue – Basch was blinking back tears, the blurred room was swimming before his eyes, and his throat was aching with the effort to not cry. He leaned against her closet. The cool, smooth wood reminded him of her coffin.

He missed his little sister.

Something moved behind him – then Gilbert was standing before him, then Gilbert’s arms were around him and Basch was staring into Gilbert’s shoulder, enveloped by Gilbert’s smell. He froze.

“It’s gonna be okay,” whispered the other man.

And, finally, the dam broke.

Basch didn’t know how long he stood there sobbing into Gilbert’s shoulder, completely incoherent, unable to form words. He cried, let himself cry, for the first time – he felt safe in Gilbert’s arms, safe from the world and from himself. He thought of his sister, felt his love for her ache in his chest, and buried his face deeper in Gilbert’s shoulder.

And then, at long last, he let her go.

Basch drew back, blinked uncomprehendingly at the large damp patch on Gilbert’s shirt for a few seconds, and felt his face warm. He hesitated, raised his head, and met Gilbert’s gaze.

“Thank you,” he said.

Gilbert’s arms tightened around him in response.

\---

That spring, Basch gave most of his sister’s possessions away.

The clay lily remained, and so did her book of pressed flowers; the pink felt hoodie went to charity, and the blue ribbon he’d bought had accompanied her to the grave. Her toothbrush, hanging in the bathroom, was finally thrown away.

At long last, her presence had been laid to rest.

In their garden, the lilies and daffodils had emerged from the earth. Their petals fluttered in the cool spring breeze; they flooded the earth with colours, and Basch thought that they were beautiful.

Gilbert laughed, and declared that he had ambitious plans for their garden. His enthusiasm was infectious, and his smile filled Basch with warmth. Gilbert was a crackling fireplace in the depths of winter; in the spring he was the sun that made the flowers grow.

Basch wished he had the courage to take Gilbert’s hand.

\---

Gilbert began to panic minutes before his orchestra audition.

Basch had followed him to the audition venue – he made Gilbert take a deep breath, and look him in the eye. “You’ve worked so hard,” he said, “and you sound amazing.”

He reached up to adjust Gilbert’s tie.

“I believe in you,” said Basch.

Gilbert bent his head, and let out a shaky laugh.

“Yeah,” he said. His eyes shone. “Yeah!” A grin spread across his face. “I can do this!” he yelled, pumping his fist in the air. “I’m fucking awesome!”

And then he had disappeared into the audition room, and Basch felt his stomach tie itself into knots. His palms were sweaty; he wiped them on his pants, trying not to imagine the look on Gilbert’s face if he didn’t make it. This was what Gilbert had to do, this was Gilbert’s calling – it was the first rung on the ladder of his lifelong dream, and Basch badly wanted him to be successful.

Then the memory of the first time he’d heard Gilbert’s music sang in Basch’s ears once more, and he just knew that Gilbert would get into the orchestra.

It couldn’t happen any other way.

\---

Weeks passed; they waited.

They planted more flowers, shopped for new shower curtains, and donated Basch’s sister’s bed. It could be re-used, but she’d died in it and Basch couldn’t see himself ever letting anyone else sleep in it – he hesitated for days, steeled himself, and finally carried it out of the house with Gilbert.

As spring’s flowers wilted and summer began to bake the land, the news finally came. Basch watched Gilbert open the letter, slowly, nervously – then he cried out and threw it on the living room table and launched himself into Basch’s arms.

“I did it!” he shouted, “I fucking did it, I got in!” Gilbert was laughing hysterically and tears were streaming down his cheeks and he was gasping for breath. “I did it! I did it, Basch, I did it! I finally did it, I finally got in!”

Basch was smiling so widely that his face hurt. “Congratulations,” he breathed, gazing up at Gilbert’s face, gazing into Gilbert’s eyes. “I’m so happy for you.”

Their faces were centimetres apart. Gilbert had pushed Basch against the new couch, pressing him against a cushion – they stared at each other, breathing heavily, their faces flushed –

Then they closed that small distance between their lips, and met in a kiss.

Basch let his hands tangle in Gilbert’s hair and slip to his shoulders, wander down Gilbert’s sides and grip his waist. They pulled apart, red-faced, gasping for breath, and kissed again, slowly, savouring the moment, chasing the warmth in each other’s bodies.

At long last, they moved apart once more.

Basch let his head fall to Gilbert’s collarbone.

“I love you,” he said, blinking in the shadow of Gilbert’s chest.

Gilbert placed a hand under Basch’s chin and tilted his head up, bringing him back into the light. He pressed a kiss to Basch’s cheek.

“I love you too,” he whispered.

That night, Gilbert permanently abandoned his mattress for Basch’s bed.

\---

On her birthday, he walked to the blooming lilies by the fountain.

The flowers dripped from their stems and leaned to the side, seeking to rest their heavy heads but finding only the drenched air. Thin white petals, carefully balancing fat beads of rain, faintly glistened under the muted sun.

A familiar laugh rang in Basch’s ears.

He whipped around. But even as he stepped forward, her image was fading; the sound of her voice was slipping beneath the roar of traffic; the warmth was receding from her hands, silently, melting back into the fog of his memories.

Something stung in his eyes. Basch blinked, hard.

Then Gilbert’s hand was on his shoulder and Gilbert’s warmth was dulling the ache in his chest. He turned, raised his head, and looked into the eyes of the man he loved. There was a strength in them – it was a well that Basch drew from when he was feeling weak, when he was feeling helpless, when he was feeling worthless.

He moved his arm, and closed his fingers over Gilbert’s wrist. Whenever Basch was frozen in place, whenever fatigue sank into his body and turned his limbs to lead, Gilbert would be there to take his hand and pull him ahead. Gilbert was always racing forward, rushing toward the sun, chasing his bright dream – but whenever he fell short, whenever he stumbled and fell, Basch would be there to take his hand and pull him up again.

Basch stepped into Gilbert’s arms, rested his chin on Gilbert’s shoulder, and gazed into the distance.

“Lilli,” he said, hoping that his voice would carry on the wind, hoping that wherever his sister was now, she could hear him.

“Thank you for everything. I love you.”

He took a breath.

“And I think I’ve finally found happiness,” he said.

Gilbert’s arms tightened around Basch’s body.

And the lilies nodded in the warm summer breeze.


End file.
